aural fixations
by bookstvnerdlove
Summary: Talk dirty to me, he asks. She complies.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

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"Tell me something, love," he says one night. They're naked in bed, clothes strewn across the room, and not moments before, his mouth had been on her breast, puling and tugging, teeth scraping lightly, exactly how she likes it.

She makes a whining noise at the back of her throat, mourning the loss of his mouth on her. (She loves his mouth, the shape of his lips, the way his tongue darts out when he's concentrating on something — or angry — and the way his lips sometimes show indentations where his teeth drag against his skin.) She leans up on her forearms and glares at him, "what do you want to hear?"

He grins at her annoyance, making her think that he wasn't precisely telling the truth when he told her in Neverland that he fancied her when she wasn't yelling. "Anything, darling. Tell me what you want."

She growls, still glaring, "what you were just doing was working quite nicely for me, " watching as his eyes flare with heat.

Emma's not sure if it's her tone or her words, but he has an even more devilish grin than moments before. As he leans down, back to her skin, he murmurs, "I'd hate to deprive a lady of her desires."

His lips tracing the skin of her collarbone before trailing back down to their earlier position. She sighs as his hand begins to wander along her body, her skin heated, flushing with need against the cool of his rings, pulling taut at his touch. His hand, which had just slipped under the band of lace along her hips, stills. Hovering around her hipbone, while he makes a low humming noise against the hollow between her breasts, sending vibrations along her center. "What was that, love? I'm not sure I heard you."

She moans, "More, oh God, more," her hips rising off the bed, skin no longer just heated but positively thrumming with need.

The movement creates just enough friction and her clit brushes up against the metal still circling his fingers, the contrast against her flesh sending her — not over the edge, but over an edge. All she wants is his mouth his stupid, distracting, insanely sexy mouth against her. So she tells him that, through gritted teeth, maybe a little more frustrated than should be considered sensual — except she knows he doesn't mind at all — she tells him, "I need your mouth on me."

His teeth nip at her skin, quickly, before he laughs, low and slow, creating even more shivers along her body, which she figured was impossible at that point given how sensitive her nerves are. Everywhere. "I'm happy to, love," he continues as he presses harder against her clit, the heel of his hand circling as he slips first one finger and then two inside.

And then his lips are sliding down her body and she can hear her breath catch with small moans of anticipation. And, God, she thinks she sounds like a porno but she's on fire and she doesn't care how it sounds, just that his mouth is exactly where she wants it and his tongue is gliding against her skin and she can hear his groan. Then, "Gods, you taste so sweet," and "I love that sound," and finally, "Yes, let go."

When she comes, her back arching, her hips rolling, he whispers her name, "Emma," over and over until she comes back to the world.

He hasn't moved from his spot, at the foot of their bed, smiling in satisfaction and a glimmer of anticipation as she arches a bow and says, "Turnabout's only fair play."

She motions for him to join her and places a short kiss to his lips before switching their positions on the bed. "What are you doing?" He asks, voice thready with need. "You wanted my voice. So that's what I'm giving you."

She licks her lips, dry, and maybe a bit nervous, as she continues, "I want you to touch yourself."

He doesn't ask any questions, he simply complies and slides his hand down until he's gripping himself, stroking slowly.

Her own breath catches as she realizes how much she likes it. No loves it — the feeling of power, the trust that he gives her. In bed. Out. Anywhere.

So she teases him, telling him how much she loves his cock, how smooth and hard and hot he feels in her hands, in her mouth, not touching, instead kneeling at the foot of the bed while he sits, back against the headboard. Eyes dark and glassy, checks flushed and pink, his hair messy from her hands. And his hand. Gripping tighter, stroking faster, hips thrusting upwards until she tells him to come, for her, imagining her lips wrapped around him.

Later that night she whispers to him, "That was fun."

He turns to face her, nudging her with his hips, wanting her again, always it seems to her. Wanting her always. "I have a new game," he says, leaning in until their lips cling together, sending fresh sparks through her body. She hums in pleasure and smiles at him, as he whispers exactly what he'd like to do next.


End file.
